


Homefront

by Winterstar



Series: The Kent Rogers Cycle [5]
Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve meets Clark's mother for the first time and needs to make a decision that may very well end their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’s never been a farm boy. Clear and simple, he’s a city boy, a New York City boy, up and down, inside and out. Brooklyn boy to be specific, and he will die one day, and it will be on his headstone, _Just a kid from Brooklyn_ because that’s exactly what he is and always will be.

Leaning on his cane and walking up the path toward the farm house that Clark Kent grew up in brings all kind of different warring emotions to the surface. He shouldn’t be worried, Clark told him that his mother, Martha was a decent woman, a fair woman. She’d have to be, she invited an alien child into her home, raised him, and loved him as her own. She’d also have to be more than a little bit of a rebel and an anarchist to do such a thing. Steve wonders if he should have brought some of the Avengers along as a shield, maybe Tony. He’s always been a wildcard and could easily be someone to throw under the bus as they say to get the heat off his own back. He chuckles – Tony would not like that at all.

Especially since he and Tony were not on speaking terms right now because of said alien and Steve’s relationship with him. He’d have to confront that issue soon enough, but the bridge toward that part of his life temporarily closed when he decided, in order to finish healing, he would step away from the Avengers for a fortnight.

Shrugging off the worries of his vocation, Steve limps toward the house with Clark calling behind him to wait up, that he’ll help. Steve only waves at Clark and continues. He smiles as he listens to Clark curse under his breath. His love never remembers that Steve also has enhanced hearing. 

“Coming, dear?” Steve says, turning as he leans down on the cane. 

Clark dumps the two suitcases out onto the dusty road, and then grabs the hatchback of the rented SUV and slams it shut. “Yes, dear.”

Steve might have considered going on vacation alone, since Clark is about as angry as Tony is with him. The whole thing is a clusterfuck as Clint would say. Steve shakes his head and heads up the path. It doesn’t take long for Clark to haul the large suitcases to the house with him. 

He joins Steve as they approach the house. “How long are you going to be angry with me?”

“Oh, I thought you were angry with me,” Steve says and doesn’t take his gaze off of the house as Mrs. Kent appears at the screen door. He lifts his chin toward the house. “Your mom?”

Clark snaps to attention and looks at the house to find his mother opening the door and standing on the porch. She’s in jeans, a t-shirt, and an old blouse with paint stains on it. She smiles as she steps down and opens her arms to encompass Clark. He drops the bags and brings her in close; there’s a sweet and comforting moment when Steve feels the hole pierced deep in his heart, the place where he keeps his memories of his mother, his father, and his time. He finds himself looking away to save his own soul from the hurt that will never truly dissipate.

“Steve?” Clark says.

Steve turns to find Clark with his arm slung around his mother’s shoulders and he’s smiling, proud and happy to be introducing his love to his mother. “Steve, I’d like you to meet my mother. Mom, this is Steve.”

She picks up the front tails of her blouse and wipes her hands to ensure they are free of paint before she offers a hand to him. He accept it and says, “It’s an honor, Ma’am.”

She smiles and replies, “Well, you really don’t need an introduction, do you? Come inside. The whole place smells like paint, but I can get you some iced tea or lemonade. What’s your preference?”

“Either, Ma’am,” Steve says and uses the cane as they climb the few stairs. 

Once Clark ushers his mother and the bags inside, he comes back to help Steve with the few steps and holds the door for him as he passes into the house. They enter into the kitchen and it’s old fashioned in many ways and harkens back to Steve’s youth. He’s both instantly comfortable and uneasy at the same time. Clark points to the kitchen table with its dark wooden chairs, nicked and stained through time. “Sit. I’ll bring the luggage upstairs.”

Steve nods and gets across the tiled floor without any problem. Clark’s mom busies herself with the iced tea. She pours three glasses and sets one on the table in front of him.

“Thank you,” Steve says and sips the brew. It isn’t too sweet which he appreciates. 

“Your trip, was it okay?”

“Fine,” Steve says. “The drive was long but it’s easier than flying commercial. Too many paparazzi around these days.”

“For you, not for him.” Martha watches him with a keen eye. She’s not making small talk as much as she’s gaging his answers, measuring him against some unknown standard. 

“Yes, Ma’am. For all anyone knows, he’s Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter from the Daily Planet and I’d like to keep it that way,” Steve says.

Her eyes shift and she looks briefly toward the hallway and what Steve supposes must be the stairs, then she focuses her gaze back on him. “Would you like something to eat? I was painting when Clark called me this morning, telling me that you would be arriving. Seriously I don’t know how that boy can’t realize that I need more than a few hours worth of time to get ready for a guest. The place is an utter mess.”

“It’s fine, Ma’am. We appreciate that you’re willing to put us up.”

“Stop with the Ma’am, you’re making me feel like a little old white haired lady. I’m old but I’m not little or white haired, well not yet anyway.”

“Yes, okay,” Steve says and feels tight like she’s just banned him from one easy thing – what to call her. Ma’am was a safe get around.

“You can call me Martha, it’s my name, you know,” she says. 

He smirks as she reads him and she smiles at him. It eases the tension as Clark comes down the stairs and down the hallway, bending slightly at the overhang from doorframe. 

“You’re painting Dad’s old study?” Clark says as Martha places another glass of iced tea on the table. 

“It was time,” Martha says and leaves it at that. The silence weighs on them, but when Martha sits down and knocks the table once with her knuckles, she breaks it. “Come now, tell me how you’re doing? The press has had a field day trying to figure out Captain America’s status.”

“Well, Clark has the exclusive story, he just hasn’t published it yet.” Steve folds his hands on the top of his belt buckle and waits.

“I don’t think that’s prudent, do you?” Clark asks.

“Keeping up appearances, you are a reporter, right?” Steve replies. He turns to Martha to enlist her help. “I gave Clark an exclusive interview, his editor knows it. But he has yet to write a word.”

“What am I supposed to write? That I ran off with my boyfriend when the Avengers all got pissed at us?”

Both Martha and Steve say _language_ at the same time.

Clark raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I can get Lois to come in and do the interview if you want. She’ll understand and make sure that everything’s kept under wraps.”

“And why can’t you do it?” Steve asks.

Martha sizes them up, pats Clark on the hand, and says, “Your guest is recovering, and you just got in from a marathon drive from New York state. I suggest you consider allowing him to rest for a few hours before you decide to argue over who is going to break the story of Captain America’s recovery.”

She stands up before Clark can answer and says, “I have some paint brushes to clean. After I do that, I’ll get dinner ready.” She leaves them alone in the kitchen. 

Steve summons the courage to ask, “Do you think you could help me up the stairs?” He’s not so stubborn to deny his body the need to rest. He shouldn’t be out of the Avengers facility in Upstate New York; he’s still recovering from third degree burns, internal injuries, concussion, and a crushed pelvis and leg. 

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Clark says and leaves his chair. Steve stands and braces himself against the table. 

“You don’t need to bring me upstairs, is there a couch. It’ll do.”

“I can get you upstairs,” Clark insists.

Steve waves him off. “A couch, I can just relax. Put the television on and I’ll be out in a second.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, I’d like to make the trip up and down as little as possible, right now,” Steve says.

Clark grimaces and sighs. “I should have thought of that, I can get a few blankets and stuff from upstairs. Why don’t you rest on the couch for now?”

“See, even I have good ideas some time.”

“I suppose that’s why they call you the man with the plan,” Clark says and pecks him on the cheek. “Be right back.”

Steve hobbles from the kitchen into the living room. It’s a homey place with handmade crocheted quilts on the couch and a recliner in the corner. He opts for the couch and settles back with a resounding huff as he sits down. Clark is back with a pile of blankets and pillows. 

“Mom waylaid me,” Clark says and immediately goes to work helping Steve get comfortable. It happens to include a lot of fussing and tucking of blankets and checking to see if Steve’s warm enough since Autumn has graced the land and the chill can be felt as September ends. 

“Thanks, Clark,” Steve says with a yawn. He’s extremely tired and the trip wore him even further. He closes his eyes and says, “You can relax, I’m fine.”

Clark bends over him and kisses his brow. “Sure you are, Cap, sure you are.”

As he slumbers he occasionally hears voices. He ignores them and turns over in his sleep. But the voices continue and he realizes Clark and his mother are in a heated debate. About him.

Or rather the Avengers.

“He’s right, you shouldn’t,” Martha says.

“How can I sit back when there’s so much to be done? When I have a gift,” Clark returns.

“A gift, it’s who you are, and they want your neck for who you are,” Martha says.

There’s a pause and he hears sounds as if they are working in the kitchen, preparing dinner together. “They can’t hurt me.”

“They can make your life hell, Clark,” Martha says. “Don’t you think he’s thought of that? He’s Captain America, he knows what he’s dealing with.”

“I can’t let him go out there while I sit on the sidelines. It isn’t right.”

“Nothing about this is right, Clark, but you have to protect yourself as well,” Martha replies.

“If not me, Mom, then who?”

“He has the Avengers, he has Iron Man.”

“None of whom could save him the last time-.” Clark stops and there’s a pregnant pause, aching and weighty. “I love him, Mom, I can’t let him do this alone.”

“What happens if that Registration act passes?” 

“We’ll deal with that when and if it happens,” Clark says. 

The rest of their conversation turns to the preparation of the meal. Steve wonders if he should alert them that he’s awake, but decides against it. Instead, he sits up, grabs his cane, and haphazardly crosses the room to the stairs. Step by step, he clunks his still healing leg up the staircase. He finally hits the landing only to realize he needs to turn and go up another six stairs. Hesitating, he grips the railing and hangs there for a few minutes. It’s taxing, but more than that it’s frustrating. Since he’s inhabited this new body, he hasn’t needed help, he doesn’t seek it, or ask for it. 

He still recalls how Bucky would curse under his breath every time he’d find Steve half bent over, barely breathing, and heart racing in his chest as he tried to run an errand or do some menial job to get enough to cover the rent. He both hated and loved those days.

A hand on his back signals to him Clark’s presence by his side. “Hey, why didn’t you call me?” 

Steve twists around and smiles. “Didn’t think I needed any help.”

“Likely excuse,” Clark says. “Come on now.” He grasps Steve around the waist and leads him up the stairs, allowing Steve to use him as a crutch. “Bedroom?”

“Bathroom, actually,” Steve replies and Clark leads him toward the designated room. While Clark loiters outside the door, Steve finishes up.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Clark says. “Hope you like Italian.”

“Sure,” Steve says and quickly wipes his hands and opens the door. “Good, I’m starved.” He is but he isn’t. The anxiety lingering in the back of his mind churns his stomach and he knows he’ll have to put on a good show. It isn’t going to be easy.

But then it is.

Martha has a surprising way of digging into his psyche while setting him at ease. By the time the lasagna is three quarters finished, the garlic bread history, and the antipasto demolished, he’s laughing as he tells a story about his mother’s first attempt at making lasagna pasta.

“Our neighbor was Italian and she gave my mother pointers but what happened, could well and truly be called a disaster of culinary portions. I’m not sure my mother ever got all the cement mix out of the pan.”

“You’re telling me your mother used cement mix instead of pasta flour?” Martha says, nearly gagging as she laughs.

“Well, in her defense, my father had a bag of this stuff, I think it was some kind of cement mix, probably not, that’s not what they had back then. All I know is, he’d had it and left it in the storage closet. Ma finds this bag in a canister that’s marked dried pasta. It had nothing to do with pasta, my father must have gotten it off of the junk man or something,” Steve says. “My Ma tells-told the story so much better. You should have seen her trying to cut the pasta. She was cursing my father’s ghost after that.”

“You didn’t eat it, did you?” Martha asks, her eyes sparkle and her smile softens as she watches how Clark reacts to his story.

“No, no, we ended up with turnip stew for dinner, which is not something I would wish on my worst enemy,” Steve says and they share another laugh as Clark blanches.

“Clark had quite a time getting used to Earth food,” Martha says.

“Earth air, Earth gravity,” Clark adds and Steve relaxes back into his chair. 

“He’s lucky you found him.” The mood sobers but not morosely so. “What possessed you to do it? To keep him, to keep his secret.”

Martha reaches across the table and grasps Clark’s hand. “I don’t know, we saw him and knew. In many ways, Clark was a miracle to us.”

Clark rolls his eyes. “Not you too, Ma.”

“Oh I don’t ascribe to the second coming crap being shot out the asses of some of these preachers. They’re just as bad as the ones who insist you’re the devil incarnate. I wiped your butt when you were a child and I cleaned up vomit when you couldn’t breathe Earth air without getting sick. I know you’re not a god,” Martha says. “Far from it.”

“Ouch,” Steve says and Clark feigns being wounded.

“Go and get the dessert.” 

Clark tries to protest but she waves him off as if she’s the queen and he her loyal subject. He hurries off, leaving Steve and Martha at the dining room table. 

“You need to stop him from this foolishness,” Martha says. She’s not pulling any of her punches. “He’s going to destruct if you don’t get him to listen and not out himself.”

“I told him he’s not going to join the Avengers,” Steve replies.

“But he wants to do full disclosure. Do you know what they’ll do? An alien living amongst us for all these years-.”

“I’m sure you’re sa-.”

“I don’t care if I’m safe or not. I can take care of myself.” Martha reaches again, but this time she captures his hand. Her grip is firm, unyielding, and strong. “You need to convince him he can’t. If he does, he puts himself in danger. He won’t have peace. He won’t have a normal life.”

“Is that what he wants? A normal life?” Steve asks. “Because I’m sure I can’t give him that.”

Martha studies him before she answers, “I’m not talking about the picket fence and children. I’m talking about peace and love. My son deserves to find something that will make him happy.”

“I hope I can make him happy, Ma’am.”

“Can you?” Martha says. “He’s more conflicted now than he’s been in the past year. He wants nothing more than to protect you. He’ll give up everything for you. I don’t want to lose my son, Captain. Tell me you won’t let that happen.”

In her eyes, he sees the promise and hope of all mothers, he sees the worry and intent he observed in his own mother’s gaze when she wished and prayed for him, during his long sickly years. He cannot blame Martha; she’s asking him what any mother would ask of him. And he finds he cannot deny her.

“I promise you.”

She pats his hand. “Then that’s good enough for me.” Turning, she looks at the door to the kitchen. “What is taking him so long?” She gets up and tells him she’ll be right back.

Nodding, he only smiles. When she leaves, he digs out his StarkPhone with hands that are no trembling, not at all. He texts a message to Natasha, asking for the Quinjet on stand-by. Once he says his goodbyes, he’ll need to leave. He glances up from the phone and his hands quake as he stares blankly at the middle distance where memories and future reside side by side. He cannot put his love, Clark, in danger. The only way to save Clark is to protect him from himself – and the only way to do that – is to leave him.

He’s never felt more the coward than he does in this moment, but he knows he needs to summons the courage and say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re just going to tuck your tail and run?” Clark says, and Steve doesn’t look at him. He keeps his eyes on the sky as the Quinjet maneuvers close to the Kent farm, near an open pasture.

Clark presses a hand on his shoulder, easily turns him because his one leg isn’t strong enough yet to resist it. “You’re leaving me? You’re leaving?”

Seeing Clark’s expression, the crumpled hopes and washed out dreams hurts more than Steve can handle or deal with, he only nods. His voice fails him.

“Don’t do this,” Clark says and he’s not going to release his grasp of Steve. Steve can’t fight him, even if he wanted to, he can’t deny Clark.

“I can’t do this to her,” Steve says finally. The words are muted, muddled in his mouth. When he says her, he doesn’t picture Martha Kent, instead he sees a woman from long ago. Her once bright golden blonde hair dulled and tied back. Her once beautiful blue eyes glassy and sickly. She’d begged him to stop his antics, to stop facing down every bully in the street and their old Brooklyn neighborhood. She’d wanted him to survive and beat the odds. He went against her will so many times as a child, he denied his mother peace because he had to be righteous. He will not do it again.

“Do what?” Clark says and he looks behind them at the farmhouse as the twilight descends on the day. “No, what did Ma say to you? What happened?”

“Nothing, I think you need to let me go, Clark,” Steve says. “I have Avengers business. I shouldn’t have left my post. It was stupid and irresponsible of me.” He keeps running on with more excuses. “Plus the injuries are best left to the experts. With the serum and all.”

Clark grabs his arm and won’t let go even when Steve yanks. “No, you’re staying here, like we discussed and we’re getting you well again.” 

The Quinjet lands and a puff of dust and heat rolls toward them. It hits as Steve turns his head away from the loose dirt. Clark steps in front of him as if to shield him from the onslaught. The ramp way opens but no one descends immediately.

Blinking away the grit, Steve cannot avoid Clark’s intense gaze, one both pained and confused, but also adamant and firm. 

“Clark, your mother, and, damn evenTony, they have a point. You’re safer without the Avengers, without me.”

“I am not safe without you, I can’t be safe without you,” Clark says just as Steve catches sight of movement in the back of the Quinjet. 

A flash of brilliant red and then Natasha walks down the ramp. She’s in her Black Widow suit, gleaming blue lines on black. “Well, are we having a moment?” It takes her approximately three seconds to figure them out, and she sighs as she joins them. “Boys, boys, boys, what are you doing?” 

“Steve is running away with his tail tucked between his legs,” Clark says and smirks at Steve as if to challenge him to refute his conclusion.

Steve doesn’t back down from such a bold challenge. “Wrong again. I’m doing the right thing. You tell me, Nat, keeping Clark safe and away from the Avengers is the best thing right now for his safety. The time’s not right for him to join and for the scrutiny.”

She betrays him. 

“I don’t know,” Natasha says. “There’s something to be said about allowing someone to make their own decisions.”

“What about my decision?” Steve says.

Natasha raises a single eyebrow, and he wonders what’s running through her mind, how she’s much she’s changed in the last months since Ultron and her flirtations with Bruce. “You’re compromised.”

“Compromised?” Her words stun him. “Compromised. I’m not-.”

She shakes her head and, her hair, which is longer now, flips around her shoulders. “You are. You’ve been injured. Post-traumatic injury is not a time to make any long lasting decisions.”

Steve meets her gaze and, for the first time, he realizes she’s offering him a gift. She’s not betraying him at all. Her friendship, her support remains. Instead of betraying him, she’s giving him room to breathe, to decide. With more time and distance from the actual injurious event, Steve might have a more level head, less emotional response. He doesn’t think he’s driven by emotions, is he?

“I don’t have PTSD,” Steve mutters. He hates that abbreviation, though he hates the idea of being shell shocked as well. He’s not a head case. He scowls at both of them and limps toward the Quinjet.

“You’re leaving? You didn’t even pack?” Clark calls after him.

Peering over his shoulder, Steve sees Natasha touch Clark’s arm once and then hold him off from hurrying after Steve. Clark nods to her, and Natasha starts toward Steve. He can’t rush to the Quinjet, his leg aches and he needs to sit down. He plods forward and she joins him, walking abreast of him, not saying anything until they climb the ramp way.

“You’re an ass, you know that, right?” she says and helps him up into the Quinjet with a shoulder under his arm.

“That’s nice.”

“You’re not leaving him.”

“I’m not staying,” Steve says and huffs when he falls into the seat. In the end, he doesn’t know what to do. He longs to stay, to hide away from the responsibility, the questions, the pain. But that has never been Steve Rogers, or for that matter Captain America. “I can’t hide forever.”

“You or him?” Natasha says and she doesn’t close off the Quinjet. He can still see Clark lingering, watching. “He doesn’t want to hide.”

“No, he doesn’t and that’s the point.” He stretches over, with great pain, to hit the ramp lock. She doesn’t protest, but offers him a look of dissatisfaction. He feels like Sister Mary Angela has brow beaten him again. “I’m trying to protect him.”

“Or yourself,” Natasha says. 

“What? No,” Steve replies. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She deposits herself on a bench opposite him. They’ve run many missions together, taken this very Quinjet, sit in these seats, and thrown ideas and strategies back and forth. They’ve become the de facto parents, guides, leaders of the new Avengers. It isn’t easy and he always looks for her guidance and her clear head – her feet firmly planted on the ground – advice when they are making decisions. She’s as much the leader as he is. He’s only the Captain of the Avengers because he comes with the title and the outside world is too judgmental and misogynist to accept her as the primary leader. 

“Steve, you’re a man from the 40’s. No one is going to blame you if you want to hide your relationship.” She places elbows on knees. “It’s okay. Hell, Clark, from nowhere USA will probably understand that angle as well.”

“It isn’t that,” Steve says. “I might not have openly expressed my homosexual side to the public, but I’m not hiding Clark because of that.”

“Then what?”

He gazes at her, really examines her. She’s intent, serious, and all of his friend. He couldn’t ask for someone as loyal to or as blunt with him than her. He’s lucky to have her. He does the same for her. “I can’t have them hunting him down. Look what happened with Bruce? I can’t have that happen to Clark.”

She straightens in her chair. The dim lights of the Quinjet’s cabin pattern her features in lights and darks reminding him of so many nuances of life. The shades of problems he wishes to be black and white are always gray. “Well, you’re not wrong, Rogers.”

She stands up and he follows with his eyes. “No, I’m not so why aren’t we leaving.”

With her back to him, she says, “I made a mistake, Steve, a big one.”

He knows this intimacy with her; she first showed it to him in Sam’s apartment. He waits and listens, sometimes she needs to work things out and state them out loud to come to her own conclusion, to forgive herself. 

“Remember when we were standing over Fury’s fake grave site?”

“I do.”

“I told you I wasn’t going with Fury and I wasn’t hanging in DC. I blew all my covers, I had to go and figure out a new one,” Natasha says.

“I remember.”

She turns to face him and there are scars on her face that do not penetrate her skin, they are the real visage under all the beauty she encapsulates. “I tried on a few. I flirted, and I wished. I played.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He knows not to probe, he’ll allow her this time to think it out.

“I made a mistake with Bruce, a big one,” she says. “I played wanting what Clint has. I love his family, I love those kids, but truthfully, I would stagnate and wither if I had to sit in one place and be one person all the time. I might not know who to be to everyone at all times, but I know I’m not a housewife, I’m not the domestic type. I thought I would be willing to do that for someone.”

“I didn’t think Bruce was that type either,” he says.

“No, he’s not, and he knows it. But trying to find myself by fitting myself into Bruce’s life wasn’t the right thing to do, and I scared him away,” Natasha says. She settles back down across from him. “I did the wrong thing. I don’t know if Bruce and I should be together. Sure I adore his geeky, dorkiness, but I kind of like the impulsive craziness of Stark, and I adore your sass and old man ways-.”

“Geez, thanks Romanoff.”

She smiles, and it’s that one he always treasures, half pinched on one end and curled upward on the other. “You’re welcome. But the point is, I tried to make something more of it with Bruce. And it wasn’t the right time for either of us to explore if it could be more. He ran off because he was scared of the world and the world is scared of him.”

“Then you understand why I have to protect Clark’s identity.”

“I do, but I also understand that you should allow him his choice,” Natasha says. “I’m not saying I didn’t allow Bruce to choose for himself, but I have to allow him to make that choice. I’m not happy he left, but that’s his choice. He doesn’t want to figure out if we could have something. That’s okay, but I should have stopped and thought about it. You should, too.”

“Stop and think about-.”

“Stop and let him make his own choice, he’ll probably come to the right one for both of you,” Natasha says with a pat to his knee and then stands up. “He knows what your stance, that you don’t want to reveal him, to be part of the Avengers. He’ll take that into consideration. Bruce did it and I think it was the right choice. It might have been harsh, but it was the right choice for him and I have to respect that.”

“Nat, I-.”

“Get off my jet now, Rogers,” Natasha says and hits the ramp release. 

“Thanks, Romanoff,” Steve says as he climbs to his feet. His one leg aches and he winces, but he waves her off when she tries to help. He thumps down the ramp to find Clark still standing vigil outside. “Oh and Natasha.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fly all the way out here to give me a dressing down, however much I deserve or need it,” Steve says. “You could do this over the comms.”

“Are you sure about that?” Natasha says with a wink. “You know Tony likes to monitor the comms. He’s a little bit of a voyeur.”

He rolls his eyes. “No, I did not know. Should I be checking my quarters for bugs?”

She laughs and it suits her. “No, don’t worry about it. Sam and I hit the quarters every week to sweep them and clean them up. It’s driving Tony insane. Once we left the surveillance devices on a continuous recording of Phineas and Ferb. For about a week he thought you were building an amusement park on the backlot.”

“Okay?” He stretches the ‘O’ out because really, none of that made any sense. 

“Good night, Steve.”

“Night, Natasha,” he says and waves behind him as he makes his way down the ramp to Clark who has the decency and the patience to join Steve. 

Without a word, Clark offers him an arm and he takes it. The Quinjet kicks up the dirt again and the ball of heat as the engines flare to life is pleasant on the cool Autumn night. He wants to ignore the obvious, but Steve cannot. He needs to address it, take the bull by the horns. Steve Rogers does not shy away from a fight, and he cannot believe for one moment that he actually entertained the thought of escaping instead of confronting the one before him. 

“We need to talk.”

Clark lightly caresses Steve’s hand clasped to his supportive arm. “Yes, we do.”

“I can’t say I won’t leave after.”

Peering over his shoulder, Clark watches the Quinjet turn into only a star in the twilight sky. “Your ride’s gone.”

“There will be another.”

Clark meets his gaze, hand on Steve’s cheek, other arm around his waist. “Yes there will be.”

And they lift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much more Clark in the next chapter!
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments. I will respond soon, I'm away on vacation. Hoping to respond next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was going to be longer, but I think what I want to do needs to be in a new story. I hope you like what I've put together for the conclusion.

They fly, arching up into the twilight sky. Steve thinks it should be cold, all logical reasoning points to how cold it should feel within the layers of the atmosphere. The odd sensation of fear, the netted ball within him when he confronts memories of times past, doesn’t manifest itself. Because the warmth pouring off of Clark as he reaches higher levels of the sky stills the coldness, thwarts the frigid levels of cold from whispering into Steve’s bones. The oxygen is thinner as they rise higher but Steve’s body adjusts; at first it's difficult but then the pounding in his ears eases and he inhales as the serum hits and races to equilibrate his pulse oxygen ratio. He relaxes into the embrace, yet still he worries, he turns over everything that Natasha has said to him. He needs to break and he needs to hold on – there’s no way to come to grips with his dilemma.

When he glances up to meet Clark’s eyes, the troubled love returned hurts like a deep ache. He wants to cradle Clark, protect him and that, he realizes it is the problem. He cannot protect everyone, he cannot protect the world or the one he loves. This has been Tony’s problem, all along. The reason Ultron was built and destroyed a city in the end in its quest to perfect humanity through annihilation. Tony had been trying to protect them all through building a shield around the Earth, and now Steve is moving to do the same thing on a very personal level. He feels the same kind of anxiety, the powerful need to move and change things. To ensure that he can protect and care for the one thing that makes a difference in this world to him, the one thing he can reach to when the world seems so off and so crooked. The one way to make things right. 

But what is right?

He cannot answer these thoughts as Clark pitches his flight through the twilight as it turns to evening as he races further and farther out. It feels as if he’s rushing to catch up with the sun, as if he’s hunting for the source of his energy so that he might use it as a method, a secret weapon to defend against any argument Steve might have. He’s pursuing the sun to shore up his energy reserves against Steve’s stance. But then Steve’s not sure what his stance should be, not after speaking with Natasha, not after speaking with Martha. For this one moment, he needs to think and rest at the same time. 

Within Clark’s embrace he luxuriates in his strong arms, and he nuzzles close, lips against his lover’s pulse point. The slight shudder through Clark urges Steve and he begins a slow exploration of Clark’s sun warmed flesh. Through the heavy din of the wind around them, Steve hears a guttural groan from Clark and, against his body, he feels a tremble of need and want. Clutching onto Steve, Clark twists his body and flips around so that Steve is laying on top of Clark as he flies on his back. The airstream hits him in ever increasing waves, but somehow the way Clark flies, it buffs with soft zephyrs instead of harsh winds. 

He wants to communicate with Clark, to show him how he understands, how he gets that the situation they are in is hard, hurtful, and exhausting. He wants only to somehow find a way out, a plan, but that's how he's always been. He needs to fix things, but maybe there isn't anything that is fixable? Sometimes life presents things that cannot be fixed, that they must live with instead of fixing. This is something he has a hard to deal with, and he knows it is partially because he is part of the Avengers. Their creed has always been to help and to fix the unfixable. He wants to communicate his understanding of their mutual frustration, but also, ultimately, his love.

He keeps kissing and tasting Clark, trying to show him how important he is to Steve. How to deal with the outside forces, their friends, their families, is ever present in his mind. He wants to deal with it between them, as they should instead of allowing the tidal wave of others to overcome them. 

He reaches up, dragging himself up against Clark, searching and kissing as he moves. He finally meets Clark, mouth on mouth. He sends a thrill through him as he risks it and release his hold on Clark to cup his face to hold him. He's trusting Clark to not let him fall as he explores and pummels Clark, plunging in with his tongue. It surprises Steve when Clark slides his one hand between them, not holding Steve, but pressing firmly against his growing erection. 

He struggles a bit against Clark’s ministrations, but the feel excites and, he so often does the right thing that up in the clouds away from everything and everyone, he finds it difficult to stop. When Steve settles against him; it urges Clark to slip his hand beneath his waistband, while using his other arm to firmly lock Steve in place. 

When Clark strokes him, the reality hits Steve. He bucks in Clark’s arms but knows he will not fall. Clark would not let him and, that’s the problem. Clark will always be there for him, holding him, taking on the mantle of protector and silent defender. Steve has a shield made of vibranium, but also one of flesh and blood, whether or not that living being is human, Steve needs to always be aware of that as they fly.

The wind buffets him in waves as they crest the air currents. Clark holds onto him, but also eases his fingers over Steve’s erection, smearing pre-come along the head. Steve curls into Clark’s neck, squeezing his eyes closed. He shouldn’t allow this, he shouldn’t do it. But it feels too good to stop. Flying as Clark works him into this heightened sensitivity, as his nerves go on fire and his heart throbs a beat to explode. He wants to stop, but he doesn’t. The excitement, the thrill of risk goad him onward, and he thrives on it. Steve has always lived on the edge, as a young boy weak and taking on bullies, or a young man throwing himself into the frigid ocean to die. He flourishes on the precipice.

Is Clark – his relationship with Clark – yet another manifestation of his need to confront fears and take thrill rides. Or is his relationship, is it truth?

The flight, the danger, the feel of Clark’s hand overwhelms his good senses. He’s always Captain America, always the righteous, always doing the right thing. Is he nothing more than that? Does he have a choice? 

As he silently debates, Clark curves his hand around Steve and then whispers into his ear. “I got you, go on, do it. Fuck my hand.”

It’s too much to ignore, it’s too many sensations all at once. The cold winds, the thin oxygen wars against the heat of Clark, the power of Clark, the warmth radiating between them. Steve is losing all sensible thought, he knows it and grapples to get it back. He wants to tell Clark to stop, to land, so that they can discuss, argue, anything.

But he wants Clark.

He loves Clark.

This is what he wants, truly wants down deep inside. To be with Clark and a partner of Clark’s. How can that be when they are continually badgered by their positions – as superheroes. What does that even mean?

“Fuck my hand, come on,” Clark says above the hell of the wind. “Do it.” He’s desperate for Steve to show him, for Steve to want him, for Steve to take what is his and to say damn it to the world.

He’s always a good man – always. He made that vow a long time ago. But does it mean he has nothing but a training facility as his home. Does it mean that he’s only this Captain America and nothing more? Does it mean he’s lost all rights to being human?

With gusto, he thrusts into Clark’s hand. It becomes a need, an urgency, an assault. If they were together in a bedroom somewhere, he would be brutal against Clark. Yet, he has this – the glorious miracle of flight and they move together. Clark urges him and he takes full advantage of this freedom – this release from reality and responsibility. 

“Harder,” Clark says into his ear against the force of the wind. 

Steve slams into his fist and then Clark squeezes, just slightly, and Steve groans. He’s half delirious with want and there’s no turning back. He fucks into Clark’s hand with a new energy – it’s raw and rare – a fierce kind of love that comes from the lack of acceptance. Not from each other, but a love that is shamed, that is rare, and a love that is not allowed in this world. 

How would it look if Captain America dated an alien, one who has come under fire, who has been the subject of such divisive press? Superman is not a loved hero, but a questioned alien from another world. He comes with leveled cities and an invasive force that killed millions. How would it look if Captain America stepped into the light and said it?

“I love you,” Steve says and comes in a great cry – drowned out by the winds and Clark’s own sob. As he empties himself over Clark’s hand, Steve holds onto Clark and understands what he needs to do know. He gets it.

He is a great hero of his time and he must stand up for what is right and good, and perfect.

There’s only one action, and he’ll sacrifice everything for it, he’ll sacrifice himself for Clark. Every single time, every single moment. As he settles in his mind and his body shudders a few more times, Steve reaches up and kisses Clark. The kiss is more than only a touch of lips and a physical display of their love, it is a validation, it is what they are in totality. 

He kisses and they become a quiet unit, together stronger, and freer than before. Steve doesn’t know how blind he was, but now he sees with greater clarity. 

He rubs his cheek along Clark’s and says, “Let’s go home.”

Clark nods and they fly, with Steve tucked into Clark’s side toward the Kent home. It only takes a few minutes, so Steve can only surmise that Clark didn’t carry them too far out from Kansas. They alight onto a patch of pasture, far from the house, but already baled. The smell of the fresh cut grass heavy as Steve wobbles on uncertain legs. Clark holds him until he gets his balance again.

He’s a mess and hopes to hell Martha isn’t around when they get back to the house. They are a ways out and Steve wonders how the hell he’s going to manage walking all the way to the house. His healing pelvic bone hurts, and his leg aches as he leans against Clark. 

“I’ll fly us in closer in a minute,” Clark says as he eyes the house in the distance, with its amber lights in the window against the pitch dark of the country. “I know you’re worried about my mother.”

For a moment, Steve misinterprets Clark – thinking that he’s referring to the stain on Steve’s pants – but then when he glances at Clark in the moonlight, he can see the seriousness, the obvious reference to Martha’s concerns. “I get it, Clark, I do. I think I understand your point of view finally. I understand hers as well,” Steve says but the echoes of Clark handling him in the air, bringing him to climax shiver through him. “And I want-.”

“You can’t leave me, I can’t- Steve – I can’t do this without you, how am I supposed to face the world,” Clark says. “They want a savior or a demon, I’m neither. I grew up in Kansas for God’s sakes. I’m a man, just like you. I understand I am not human, but I’ve been raised to be human, I get it. I’ve been raised to love.”

“I get it, but Clark -.”

“No, I’m not going to let you stand here in the middle of the night and tell me that you’re going to leave me,” Clark says. “Mom has the right intentions, she’s trying to protect me. She wants me to live only for me. But I can’t. I can’t – I have the DNA of an entire people within me. I am a legacy for an entire planet. If I don’t try and do good, what do they have? Who will remember them? What will be the consequences of their lives and their deaths?”

Steve reaches out and grabs Clark’s hand. “Shush, I get it. Clark I do.”

“How can you?”

“Because I am, in some small way, a symbol myself. I’m a symbol of everything America is supposed to be, but hasn’t been brave enough to achieve. I’m here as a way to get there, to show those around me, that it is possible.” Steve shrugs because trying to explain this heavy burden on his shoulders – trying to say out loud how people around the world see him as the sentinel of liberty – of what America is supposed to be is near to impossible without sounding pretentious and downright stuck up. He finishes with a murmured, “I get it.”

“Do you, do you really?”

“Like I said, in a small way. We have a lot to work out, I don’t know how we will figure it all out, but we need to be aware of the consequences, the limitations of our relationship and how it will ultimately, affect the missions each of us have thrust upon us.”

“I’m not sure I like the mission that’s been thrown on my shoulders, Steve, I’m not a god, I’m not truly an alien. I’m only a man,” Clark says. 

He might be a man who can fly, who can crush steel with his hands, who can scorch the Earth with a glance, but the truth is – very clear. He is a man, with the same needs, the same fears, the same hopes.

“Clark, I’m not going to leave you. I thought I was, I thought I could. But I realized while we- while we were flying, and making love, that I could never leave you. I have to be with you. You are mine and I am yours. I will stay,” Steve says, but doesn’t voice the thought, the idea that leaving Clark would be offering him up to the wolves. If Captain America comes out and says he’s in a relationship with Superman – it may quiet and mollify those same wolves, it could save Clark. “We have some things to figure out, but I’m not leaving you.”

He steps up to Clark, closing the cold distance between them. Placing a hand on his waist, Steve lays his head upon Clark’s shoulder. In low tones, he says, “Bring me home, I want to make love to you and show you.” He lifts his head and gazes at Clark.

Clark smiles, that smile that always sets Steve on fire. He gathers Steve in his arms again and they drift on soft currents of air to the house. Martha is on the porch, her eyes hard, her lips pressed together. When she sees them, she’s quiet and doesn’t comment on the mess that Steve, most obviously, is. Instead, she chides Clark and brings a blanket for Steve.

“He’s only just recovered and you’re flying him all over the state,” Martha says and wraps Steve in the blanket, helping him up the steps to the house. Clark only smiles. They have a long way to go, a long way, but they have to make it.

What other choice do they have?

The world is on fire, and they are the shield and the cloak of protection against the conflagration. 

They can only survive, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will answer all the comments once I get back from vacation - thanks so much for supporting this rare pairing!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on [tumblr](http://winterstar95.tumblr.com) and we can talk all about Steve and Clark and their hotness!!
> 
> Kudos or comment helps me to figure out if there's any interest in this rare pairing!


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